The senses
by Pat-Tar
Summary: A series of non jointed vignettes, based around the senses, smells, touches, sights, tastes...
1. Silk

He walked away, his silk robe swishing softly. He liked the feel of the cool silk against his legs, against his arms. She watched him walking away with the silk wrapped around himself. It was a bluish purpley colour, contrasting nicely with the creamy white of his skin and the pure silver of his hair. She liked watching him like this, in the morning, before he had thrown his guard up, before he had hidden away inside his heart, and behind his walls. He reminded her of the outside world, reminded her that there was a reason they were hiding, that they were running from the wars. She wanted nothing more than to leave this little hometown farm, to go back to her world, her family. Instead, she had learned to spin wool into yarn, and then to knit and to sew, because the couple they lived with did not understand their ways, and could not be told, not in these dangerous times.

These dangerous times, when to be seen with _them _was to invite death into your home, and ask Him for tea. She would not put either of them in danger like that. Not with a third on the way. She could not get over the way the colour of his robe set off the colour of his eyes, making them seem, almost, almost blue, though she knew they had no colour, they were like his hair, like his rings, they were only silver, ever shifting, ever changing, but never kind.

He watched her watching him, a smile nearly on his face, coming out as a smirk, never faltering as so long ago it had, that first night when he had cried, falling to pieces and not knowing how or why to stop it. She knew nothing of that fight, within himself, to allow her to see this mess he had made of himself. To trust her, to want her to see the ends of his capacity, to see just how far he could be pushed, what price he could be asked before he said "enough" and the world listened. She would not know that he had come so close to leaving, come so close to throwing it all away in order to keep her safe... In order to stop the bonds that were forming. But he could not. If they had asked just one more thing, he would have broken free, but he had stopped them, and he had paid the price. A price, which, if she had only known, she would never have asked. But she was allowed, her and her alone, was allowed to ask any thing, any price of him, and he would grant it, not having a choice, not being able to say no, not being able to break those bonds.

Those bonds of silk wrapped iron. Never chafing, never hurting, but always there, always holding on. He had watched, as another broke free, broke was a good word, because that's what had happened, he had become a pale shadow of himself, and there was nothing that could be made of him. But he had picked himself back up, as he watched her come back, when the bonds had returned, fiercer, stronger than before, and nothing would break them this time. Nothing would stop her from chaining them together, because he, the High lord, would not break, would not be brought low.


	2. Oak Leaves

"The fallen leaves,

Drift by my windows,

Fallen Leaves,

Of Red and Gold"

Fallen leaves? (not sure of the title OR author)

They walked through the autumn winds, winding through the forest. The leaves were changing, making the forest sparkle with colour. The leaves that had already fallen crunched under their feet. They muffled the sound of their footsteps, and muted their voices. Not wanting to break the spell, but needing to speak her piece, Ginerva opened with

"It's funny,"

"What is?" Asked Draco.

" The way the seasons reflect the cycle of life. The birth in spring, the ages through the summer, the autumn of life, and death in winter. Then there's also rebirth in spring."

"It's true, but autumn is far too pretty and serene to be associated with the end of life."

" I suppose, but winter is very hushed, like the stillness of death, and yet is gorgeous, and colourful, and has beautiful music and songs."

"I agree, but my favourite must be spring, the quiet glow of rebirth, the light and dark, the warmth of the season."

"I guess I like the quiet of autumn, and the silence of the winter. The autumn, with its dry crackle, its brilliant colours, and its warm days, and cool nights. The winter, with its muted colours, the whites and blues and grays, and its hushed, quiet nights, and brilliant glowing days."

"Quite." Said Draco, giving in.

They walked on in silence, their thoughts swirling around them life the fallen leaves.


	3. Snow

It was cold. Too cold. It was snowing for Christ's sake. It never snowed. But today. Today there was snow. It had been falling for hours. It was kind of symbolic. The way was drawing to a close, and the snow, falling from the heavens, was covering the bloody remnants of death. It was beautiful, but it was a cold beauty. Much like the stillness of death.

She watched, from her window, sitting by the fire, with some hot chocolate. She knew that he was gone, for now, for weeks, days, months. But he was gone. She wanted him, here, with her, watching the snow. His daughter wanted him home too. But he had never met her yet, his heir, a beautiful platinum haired child, with his nose, and her eyes. A startlingly Slytherin mix, the silver hair, emerald green eyes, ringed in onyx. It was a good combination, but she wished that he had met her before he had left.

He wasn't even aware of her existence, and she hoped that he would come home to see her sooner, rather than later.

So she watched, and waited, and then...

.... the door opened, and there he was. Glorious, covered in snow.

"Dra... Draco?"

She was flabbergasted, happy, in awe, ecstatic, and ran to him.... Thenm another door opened, and a little voice said:

"Daddy?:"


End file.
